


Acquiescence

by SalvationLee



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: 73rd Hunger Games, 75th Hunger Games, Childhood Memories, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Memories, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalvationLee/pseuds/SalvationLee
Summary: A brief glimpse into a few memories of a young woman forced to play a role thrust upon her. A short one-shot showcasing a storyline I have toyed with for nearly a decade and am seriously considering expanding upon.
Kudos: 3





	Acquiescence

* * *

_ Blink. _

I’m scared.

I hear the creaking of the ladder. Instinctively, my whole body tenses, my ears listening to the uneven footsteps slowly making their way up the wooden ladder to the tiny loft I have come to call mine. Shivering, I curl into a tight ball under the heavy wool blanket, holding my breath and silently waiting. Counting the footsteps slowly making their way toward me. Praying.

A whisper.

“Sally? You still awake, sweetheart?”

My breath comes rushing out in a muffled sigh. Peeking the top of my head out of the warmth of the nest I have made myself, I see a tall figure holding a faded green bundle attempting to step around the creakiest of the uneven floorboards. All shadow, until he lights the small candle on the nightstand. Illuminated, he uses his free hand to brush back strands of dark hair that have fallen out of his bun. His deep brown eyes find my icy blue ones, and a smile lights his face. “Hey, kiddo. Did I wake you?”

I shake my head slightly, hesitant to make any sound for fear of the monster lying dormant below awakening. As if reading my mind, my brother sits down at the other end of the mattress and reaches down to ruffle my hair, saying, “Don’t worry. He’s out for the night.”

Nodding, I gradually make my way out from under my blanket and into my brother’s lap. “Hi, Pent.”

“Sorry I was gone so long. I didn’t mean to leave you alone all night. He didn’t touch you, did he?” He reaches down and thumbs my most recent blemish - a deep, jagged cut on my forehead.

I shake my head, dark hair falling into a shield around my face.

“Good.” Brushing my hair aside, he lightly pecks the now scabbed-over cut. I make a face, squeezing my eyes shut and sticking out my tongue, managing to coax a small chuckle out of my brother. “Cute, munchkin.”

Ignoring his comment, I lean over, trying to get a good look at the tiny bundle he brought home with him. Pointing, I ask, “What is it?”

“Right. This.” Reaching behind him, Pent picks up the bundle - a makeshift sack - reaches in with one hand, and pulls out two berry muffins and something shaped like a rough cylinder, made of folded paper and tied together with string. “I know it’s not until tomorrow, but I figured, why not? I can’t believe you’re nearly six now. Happy birthday, Sally.”

He hands me the paper-and-string cylinder and patiently waits. I do nothing but stare at it, unbelieving, until finally, Pent says, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and open it.”

Carefully untying the string and folding the paper back, I find four beautiful wax crayons. I recognize the colors from our adventures out in the forest - blue like the sky, red like the cardinal, green like the trees, yellow like the sun. My smile is so wide, I feel like my face may rip in half. Hugging Pent, I whisper into his ear, “Thank you.”

“Of course, kiddo. I love you.” He hugs me back, holding me tightly. “Now you can draw pictures of the stories I’ve been telling you.”

“And the animals, too?”

“Yes, the animals, too.”

* * *

_ Blink. _

I can’t breathe.

I’ve been running for miles, and I still can’t completely shake them off my tail. My legs are tingling, by body is covered in sweat, my throat is parched, and I hear nothing but the sound of my blood pumping through my veins. Despite this fatigue, I am infuriated at myself for giving into the temptation of fresh berries by the riverbank. I knew if I went to pick some, I would be seen. Alas, hunger prevailed. And here I am. I refuse to let them catch me. Fourteen is too young to die.

My legs give out beneath my weight. Stumbling, I know I can’t go on much longer. Spotting thicker, taller trees a hundred yards away, I grit my teeth, ignoring the flames of pain licking their way up my body, and make a dash toward them, climbing the first I see that looks strong enough to hold my small, thin frame and not the bigger, more muscular builds of my pursuers.

The yelling and cursing that had greeted me at the riverbank gradually become louder and much more pronounced as they close in on me. Soon, my fellow Tributes get close enough for me to make out their features, and I know they can see me as well as I can see them. Like predators stalking their prey, they circle the base of the tree I’ve climbed. They attempt to climb up, using any and all of their resources to help aid them, but to no avail.

This goes on for hours and hours. I can tell they’re getting impatient. And honestly, who can blame them? Stranded prey is no fun if you can’t play with it. And I;m so sure I’ve won; they can’t mess with me, and I can easily outwait these three.

Never was I so wrong.

Two days of agonizing torture dealt by way of word. Two days of cruel remarks, sickening threats, and disgusting scenarios thrown at me by these demons in the form of fellow human teenagers. Two eternal days of being reminded of who I am, where I’ve come from, and what I have become.

One boy threatened to drag me out of the tree, beat me, and draw out my death in the most painful, gruesome ways imaginable.

The girl reminded me of everything I have ever done - willingly or otherwise - that has been uprooted, twisted, and devoured by the media, as if this were all some sick sitcom.

The other boy offered me life if I would spend one night with him and prove all the rumors true.

I didn’t mean to do it.

I didn’t want to.

I had no choice.

I hope they all burn.

* * *

_ Blink. _

I know what I must do.

Preparing to play my part in this war has been no easy task. I only know what I need to know - no more, no less. No matter how these 75th games run in our scenarios, they always end the same.

Please, God, just let me spend my last night of peace in the most comforting place I can find.

“Hey, Sally. I thought I might find you here.”

I slowly peek my head out from under the wool blanket. Pent reaches out a hand to ruffle my hair, then sits at the other end of the mattress. Reaching his hands up, he takes his long, messy hair and ties it back. He looks older, much older than his thirty-two years, too weary and worn. He’s seen too much. He shoots me a half-hearted smile. I know he dreads what is to come as much as I do. I can see it in his eyes.

“Are you ready?”

Despite the fact our world is about to turn upside down, despite the fact we are about to commit terrible crimes, despite the fact we could die tonight, I can’t help but snort and roll my eyes. When Pent doesn’t reply, I sit up and fix him with a sharp stare.

“Alright, fair point,” he says at last, breaking under my gaze. “Shitty question. I mean, who the hell is prepared for war?”

“Who the hell?” I agree.

We sit in silence a little longer, neither of us wanting to disturb the quiet. My eyes wander to my lap, where my hands fidget with the blanket, while my thoughts trail off to what I have been assigned to do. Lord knows I would rather die, but that would be too easy, now, wouldn’t it? I’ve made my way up the ranks - from filthy strangers on the dirty street, to drunken “acquaintances” my monster of a father would give me to, to the richest playboys of the Capitol with all money and no heart - so it only makes sense that I play this role one more time. After all, who else will ever get so close to taking down the most powerful, ruthless man this world has come to know?

My train of thought is broken by the melody of a familiar childhood nursery rhyme. Glancing up from my hands, I see Pent has his eyes fixed outside the tiny window above the bed. Without skipping a beat, he finishes whistling the melody and then points out the window at the stars. “You know what my favorite thing about teaching you how to whistle that particular tune was?”

Completely taken aback, I shake my head.

“I never knew exactly which song was going through your head. ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’? ‘The Alphabet Song’? ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep’?” He tilts his head to look at me, those dark eyes peering into my own, then sighs. “I just realized what day it is. Happy sweet sixteen, Sally.”

Suddenly, I don’t want to play the hero anymore. I don’t want to worry about making a stand, taking down our enemies, fighting for the greater good. I just want to be six years old again, wrapped tight in the strong,protective arms of my big brother, the hero of my world. With tears beginning to fall down my cheeks, I crawl over into Pent’s lap, hugging him and living in the fantasy, if only for a moment.

“I love you so much, Sally. Never forget that.”

“I love you, too, Pent. Forever and always.”

* * *

_ Blink. _

I’m screaming.

The pain is excruciating. I feel as if my body is being torn in half. I can’t control the jerking motions, the cries of agony coming from my lips.

Make it stop.

God, please.

It hurts.

Make it stop…

“You know, in all my years of observing and interacting with you, I never would have picked you out to be the beggar.”

That voice. I know it. And I know what it means.

I never did make it out.

I’m in hell.

With  _ him _ .

As suddenly as it started, the pain ceases. I feel myself collapse, water dripping down my body. To my horror, I realize that I have been restrained to this cold metal chair, naked save the damp piece of cloth denying me sight. I cannot move my limbs, cannot even lift my head to face my attacker.

I am blind, pathetic, broken.

“You can try and hide in your memories all you want, my dear child, but in the end, you will always awaken to reality.”

His sickeningly sweet voice drips honey laced with poison. I know he’s right. But I also know that there was never any other ending. To save one pawn meant sacrificing another.

Deep, heavy thuds. His footsteps, crossing the room, slowly, menacingly, until at last, they stop, directly in front of me. I hear the fabric around his arm move, can picture his arm sweeping upward, and immediately sense the guards I know are with him backing down. Some sort of secret language passing between them all. No doubt he feels I am no longer a threat. And in my current situation, I’m no longer much of anything.

He leans down, cups my sharp chin into his big, meaty hand, and forces my head up towards his. Though I can’t see him, I can feel his breath, hot and sticky, run along my cheek and neck. “My dear Salvation. Such a promising name, and yet you still failed to deliver anyone from fate, my dear.”

His breath smells like blood.

“It’s over, child. You took a risk, and you lost. Your comrades have lost.”

I realize how cold I am.

“Give up the façade, my dear. We have won. You are helping no one.”

His grip on my chin tightens. He’s getting frustrated. Good. Maybe he’ll snap my neck and leave me dead. A ghost of a smile crosses my face at the thought.

“Your uprising has been stopped. Your allies have all been captured or killed. You will cooperate with me. You will give me any and all information that pretty little head of yours holds. Do it, and I may yet decide to spare you.”

Silence. If I had the energy, I would have laughed.

Nails grind deeper into my skin.

“You don’t believe me. I understand. It is a lot to take in at a time such as this. But don’t worry, my dear. I know just how to convince you.”

I should have found something - anything - to use as a weapon that night. I had him in the palm of my hands. Sleeping like a baby.

“We found your brother.”

My blood runs cold.

“Stupid boy was too stubborn to retreat when his superiors commanded so. Not that retreating helped them any. No, instead he had to come and retrieve his precious little sister.”

Fuck a weapon. I should have choked him to death with my bare hands.

“Repentance. Another promising name. I’m afraid that, like you, he failed to live up to it.”

I feel one last burst of energy come to my aid. Small, but just enough. Mustering my strength, I manage to jerk my chin out of his grasp, hold my head high, and spit in the direction his voice emanates from. I hear him grunt, feel him recoil, and I know I’ve hit my mark.

A long moment of tense silence. I silently revel in my victory. Then, before I can stop myself from doing so, I feel my lips form words, and hear my voice, hoarse from days of incessant screaming and misuse, rasp, “Go to hell.”

Another silent pause. Then, “My dear, dear Salvation, I’m afraid that we are already there.”

A tight yank. The cloth falls from my eyes. Blinding light. I feel myself tearing up, blinking my way through the harshness, eyes desperately trying to adjust. Something is thrown over me. Cold. Wet. Water.

Coughing, choking, shaking, I look up, sight adjusting just enough to make out his form. Dressed in black, he stands ten feet away, staring me down with his dark, snake-like eyes. With a nearly imperceptible nod, the guard to his left steps forward, attaching wires to my shivering, skeletal frame. Stepping back behind his leader, the guard to the right comes forward, carrying something wrapped in a faded green bundle.

With a smile, my tormenter reaches into the bag and pulls out Pent’s severed head.

A spark appears in the corner of my sight.

I scream.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Hunger Games or any of the characters that appear in Suzanne Collins’ works. Please feel free to comment and review.


End file.
